It all started when Brice's Camaro went out of control. I can see it like it was yesterday, okay? You know how old people tell you that they can remember when President Kennedy was shot? Like they can tell you what they were doing, like mowing the lawn with their green and yellow John Deere tractor or driving to a grocery store in their Volkswagen Beetle. They seem to know exactly where they were when they heard the news on the radio or from a friend. My folks used to tell me that they were walking in a mall early one morning when someone mentioned the Challenger spacecraft exploding. You know, they can even tell you what they were wearing that day. It used to seem nutty to me, but now I know what they meant. I know exactly what they meant.

I remember exactly the time whenever the world started falling apart.

It was when Brice's deep blue, white-walled Camaro rounded the corner at the Edgewater Pharmacy and then never completed the turn. It was like Brice just forgot what he was doing and let go of the wheel. The car never fully made the turn, but just roared right across the street from the Pharmacy and into the front of Krause's Hardware Store. First it sliced off a speed-limit sign right at the base. Then it smashed its way in through the front floor-to-ceiling window before stopping. What a noise! It was like a grenade went off right on the main street. I can remember running over to the car, expecting to see blood and all that. Instead, I saw colors all over the floor. I was puzzled until I realized that the car had smashed the gumball machine at the front door and those colors were hundreds of gumballs rolling down the aisle. Actually, now that I think about it, it was kind of funny. It wasn't funny, though, whenever Cameron Hall's dad tried to open the door of the Camaro. Myself, I was about thirty feet from the hardware store, picking up some milk for when Mom and Dad got home later that evening. I'm ashamed to say that it was such a shock to my system that I dropped the whole gallon of milk. To this day, I don't know exactly what became of that milk - as if it matters anymore anyway. Mr. Hall got to the car first, although people started coming out of their houses and started running towards the store. Some people even pulled their cars up onto the sidewalk and came across the street to help. Lots of people saw the wreck, and being good- natured people, they tried to help. Everybody was pretty nervous about what they would see, and the door was so crinkled and smashed that it stuck shut. We couldn't see Brice inside because of the spider-webby cracks all over the front of the windshield. Two men went over to help Mr. Hall, and I think one of the men had a crowbar or some kind of pipe. They finally got the door opened and I kind of shuddered because I wasn't sure how Brice would look like. I expected all sorts of terrible scenes, but not the one that I saw.

Brice wasn't in the seat. In fact, he wasn't even in the car.

This threw everyone off, as you can imagine. You need to understand, see, I live in a small town. The name of our town is Delmar, because the town sits right on the border of Delaware and Maryland. In fact, the state line runs right down our main street, and there's a small pride in that type of uniqueness. The last official census count put us right under 3,000 people in the whole town. In fact, Delaware is a small state in itself, so you can imagine, none of us were used to anything extraordinary or supernatural going on. We have farmers, store merchants, and a good bit of retired people - not the type of people who would attract attention or unusual activity. But there it was: a driver that more than ten people saw, who suddenly disappeared. I'm telling you, I saw it with my own eyes. His head was visible in that window, so help me. He gave no indication that he couldn't control the car. In fact, the Camaro wasn't even speeding. Then, in a blink of an eye, there's no driver. I thought I was seeing things; after all, it was in a moment. But when Cameron Hall's dad pried the door open, I knew I hadn't been seeing things.

It was true - Brice disappeared.

People looked up, white-faced. Some people wouldn't even look up. There was a stupid shock among all of us. Gerard Hancock, one of the old men who lived over on Lincoln Avenue, just about dropped his jaw and yelled to his wife, "Well, looka there. The boy ain't in the car a-tall, Miriam!" I looked up because he bellowed it real loud, and things had been so quiet while they worked over that door that his exclamation made me kind of jump. When I did look over to him, I thought it was kind of weird that he was yelling to his wife because I didn't see her anywhere in the store. Sure I know his wife - Mrs. Hancock was one of my best customers back when I delivered papers when I was in middle school. She always tipped me when I came to collect. Real nice lady.

I'm looking around and trying to find out where his wife was, because you never know if an old person is getting senile or has Altzheimer's or something. That may sound cruel, but look, I'm just trying to be honest about it, okay?

But here's the really weird thing about that whole incident. When Gerard turned around to yell once again, I could tell that his wife had been right next to him, because of the way he turned to talk to her right next to his shoulder. His face was stunned and his eyes grew real wild-like. He started swiveling his head back and forth and I could see a genuine panic in his face. I moved toward him but the car and the glass were in the way, so I tried to pick my way around the people to get over to him, sort of help him. And just as I reached him, he looked down to the ground, and what he saw made him scream. All my hair stood up, because here's this grown man screaming and looking down at the ground like he just saw the most horrible thing in the world.

I gulped and leaned around him so I could see what was on the ground.

EPISODE 2 -

As I looked down in front of Gerard Hancock, I grew puzzled. All that happened was that his wife was not right next to him. How bad could that be? As old as he was, maybe she was still in the Pharmacy and he forgot about it. That happens with old people sometimes; hey, even my dad forgets his glasses or car keys, so I'm not making fun of retired people or anything. I don't want anybody to get mad at me; things are bad enough as it is.

Anyway, let me get back to what I was saying. I looked around Mr. Hancock because he was trying to tell his wife that the driver from the car was missing, and all of a sudden he starts wailing like there's no tomorrow. I noticed that he was looking at the ground while he was crying so I snuck a look.

There, on the ground, was a broken open small sack of groceries. It had a split down the side and two oranges had rolled out. It had that split that made it seem like somebody just held the paper bag at arm's length and let it drop. I noticed that the carton of eggs on top had a little damage, because there was yolk starting to seep through the edge of the container.

Mr. Hancock turned to me with red-rimmed eyes and shouted into my face. He wasn't really talking TO me, but sort of like he was talking AT me - does that make any sense? He was so worked up he had to yell at somebody and I was the closest person to him, so he swung around and bawled right into my face, "She's gone! She told me it was gonna happen and it did. I never took it serious but it happened. Oh my dear sweet Lord. I played around and it happened."

I'm standing there thinking that there's no way that Mrs. Hancock had divorced him or had run away from him - nuts, they both were in their seventies and they got along great. Everybody in Delmar knew that. Each Saturday they would head on out to dinner before going over to the racetrack on down the highway. They loved to watch the races at the Speedway. You see, I know that she couldn't have just walked out on him.

Still, here he was, bellowing into my face, with tears running down his cheeks and his mouth wide open. That was unfortunate, because Mr. Hancock was known to chew. He had a wad of tobacco in his mouth right then, in fact, and as he yelled I could feel little flecks of juice dotting my forehead. "She's gone! She was right here! She done just like HE did!" Gerard pointed a bony finger at the smashed up car. "You know full well that boy wasn't killed in that wreck. He left before it happened. And so did she! Oh! Oh!" He clutched his chest. An ambulance wailed in the distance. Then a fire siren. What was going on?

Cameron Hall's dad ran over to help me, because right then old Gerard's knees started buckling and he sort of swooned into me. I caught him, and even for a thin fellow, he sort of set me back on my heels for a moment. "Hey, Mr. Hancock, it'll be okay. You're wife is right around the corner, " I said lightly. "Let's just get you to sit down and I'll go fetch her from the store. Which one did she get these groceries from?" It was obvious to me that he thought she had the groceries and ducked out on him. Maybe she had put the sack down and went to go retrieve her purse or take advantage of another sale. You never knew. Gerard Hancock kept leaning on me heavier and heavier. Good thing Mr. Hall came over to steady me o we would have both pitched backwards into the smashed up car. "Steady now, pardner," drawled Mr. Hall, in a friendly voice. "No need to get shook up. Curt will find your wife. Won't you, Curt?"

"Sure," I said, trying to sound like she was right outside the door. I was getting real uneasy. The shock from Brice's disappearance hadn't worn off yet. Now Mrs. Hancock? Something wasn't right. Old Gerard Hancock kept leaning, but this time he shifted his weight over to Mr. Hall's shoulder. He wasn't having none of me running out to find his wife. "She's gone, I tell ya. She's gone. Took up. That boy in the car, same way. And I'm left here." He started sobbing and clutching his chest. Mr. Hall gave me a quick look that told me that I'd better do something. I caught the glance and ran to the back of the store where the phone was. Funny thing was, no body even asked me what I was doing. The five or six other people that were still in the store were either trying to look through the car for some sign of Brice or were just standing there scratching their heads. Even Junior Krause, the owner's son who was minding the store, just stood and stared at the mess of glass and metal. He had a radio on next to him and he seemed to be listening to it, but it sounded like a lot of shouting, as if the news announcers knew what was happening right in the store. I reached over and grabbed the phone receiver and punched 911.

No response.

Come on, come on, I breathed.

Still no response.

This doesn't happen with 911, you know that as well as I do. But there it was. I glued my ear to the phone, and you might expect for me to say something freaky like there was a busy signal. But try as I might, I couldn't even get a busy signal. I must've punched those numbers ten or twelve times, and Mr. Hancock wasn't looking too good up there, I might add. Another siren, and thios time a police car shot by the front of the store, with full lights blinking. The tires screamed around the corner. You need to know, this never happened in Delmar. Never. Now I was fighting back a full-throated panic. What WAS the matter with the phone? I punched in the town hall and police department number - they're both the same. I told you that the town was small!

A panicked female voice answered. "Hello? Hello! You must understand. We have every resource on the street. We can't do everything!" The exasperated voice yelled. "Hey! Hold on!" I hollered back. "You don't even know what I'm calling about! I'm down at Krause's and we had an accident and it looks like a heart attack vic-" "You think that's an emergency?" The voice was not really framing it as a question. "Are you sane?" I screamed. I was starting to lose it. "Of course it's an emergency. It looks like we've had one death, maybe two, and a man is struggling right now to hang on. Where are the police? How come I can't get the 911 line to even take my call?" "You have no idea, son. You have no idea," the voice droned, and hung up.

Episode 3 - That phone call did it for me. I was shaking like a leaf. Even the police department was rattled about this. Sweat was dripping from my armpits and despite myself, my lips were trembling. I hate it when I can't keep control, but this is one of those times when I was falling apart. I still had the receiver to my ear, listening to silence, when I turned to look at Mr. Hall. Old man Gerard Hancock was sagging against him. Mr. Hall looked at me as if he knew what happened in the phone. His face got real sad. And then he slowly shook his head.

I knew what that meant. Mr. Hancock. Good old Hancock the farmer. Mr. Gerard Hancock of Delmar, Delaware died at the scene of the accident. And he wasn't even the victim.

Or was he?

Now the people started to respond, and some were laying coats and blankets down underneath Mr. Hancock's body. Yeah, like that would do him any good now, I thought bitterly. He's dead. What good does it do to make a person comfortable whenever he's already left this world. Yet there they were, trying to give him a peaceful surrounding.

Isn't that funny? They're standing in the middle of a store that has had its front window blown out. There's glass everywhere and a mangled Camaro blowing steam out of its front. Red and blue police lights are flickering through the window in the late afternoon light. Four and maybe five different sirens are going off continuously. Probably three house or car alarms are screaming. Some people outside are shouting and running. No phones. Nonsense on the radio. People in shock. And here these people are, trying to act like this is the most serene place on the Eastern Shore.

Yeah... and so, well, that's when I cracked. I'm not proud to say it, but everything started closing in on me. I felt like the Camaro was going to start up again and ram me right through the back of the store. I thought Mr. Hancock's wife was going to come busting into the store and start cursing me for letting her husband die. I was sure that old Gerard Hancock himself was going to get up off of that glass-strewn floor and start shouting in my face again. I even felt like Mr. Hall was going to start trying to lean on my shoulder with that sad face, and ask me what was going on. And if he would ask me that, I would stop breathing. Really, that's how I felt. That's how bad it got. I dropped that receiver and stumbled towards the door. I lost my balance and fell into a display of paint cans, sending me sprawling as the cans rolled in every direction. I threw my hands out to catch myself and landed them right in the crunched up glass from the Camaro windshield. Sharp pains lanced through my hands as the glass dug in deep. I turned them over to see blood flowing freely. I scrambled to my feet and dodged around the smashed car and ran into the street. If I thought the inside of the store was enough to make me sick, what happened on the street brought me to my knees. The main street - the quaint little downtown district of Delmar - looked like a war zone. And the smell! Burnt rubber, charred wood, gasoline spills - even a smell like sour milk was gagging me. The one thing I was thankful for at that moment was that we lived in a rural community. I needed to get to the countryside. I knew it was no use trying to contact Mom and Dad since they were out of state until late that evening - they said they probably wouldn't be home before midnight, so I should just lock everything up and head to bed that night, they'd let themselves in. Well, with the way things were going, I knew they wouldn't expect me to hang around, and besides, if things were as bad as they seemed, they would be able to get into town anyway.

An explosion rocked a building about a block and a half away. Yet another car alarm went off. That made up my mind. I was going to run. I was heading for the woods. I needed to get my head on straight. For all I knew, somebody could be shooting. Dear Lord, this wouldn't be a war, would it? Who would be fighting us? Not that it mattered. I wouldn't care if it was a tourist group from the Caribbean - bullets are bullets. I'm getting out of town.

I ran down the street. Being a small town, there wasn't much traffic, and most of the cars that I saw had run off the road or were smashed up, especially in Tintown, the part of Delmar that is considered "across the railroad tracks." Ever hear of that term? It was an old term meaning the houses weren't as good as the average citizens. I had good friends there, so it didn't make a whit of difference to me. I will say this, though: the tern Tintown was used because a lot of the old homes had those shiny metal roofs from years past, but the truth is many of the houses were old, old wood. As I ran past Pine Street, I saw a car that had collided with the corner of one of the houses. The car had burst into flames and the house sucked up that fire like it was drinking it. I could feel the heat from across the street. The fire was ready to jump to a second house. With all the sirens, I wondered, where were the firemen?